28: A Desperate Run

“Gilgaran, wait up. Maglor needs to rest.”

Maglor came out of his daze at the sound of Arthalion calling out and shook his head. “No, we cannot stop. We….”

“Easy now. You’re dead on your feet, my friend,” Saelmir said as Gilgaran came back to them, having taken point. Looking about, Maglor noticed Celepharn, who was behind them, turning to face south, his hand on his sword, acting as rearguard.

“We can spare a few minutes, but not much more than that,” Gilgaran said. “We’re still too close to those damnable creatures.”

“Assuming they’re not even closer, following us,” Arthalion countered. “It matters not. Maglor cannot go on without rest. I think he’s becoming feverish again. I would like to check his dressings but I don’t think we have that luxury.”

“I’m fine,” Maglor protested even as Arthalion and Saelmir helped him to sit on a rock after they brushed off the snow. It had actually stopped snowing at some point and Maglor only just realized it as Saelmir handed him some water to drink.

He drank greedily but forced himself to take only a few sips, knowing the others would need some. As he handed the waterskin to Gilgaran, he felt something moist on his back and realized his wounds must be bleeding. He decided to say nothing about it because, in truth, what could any of them do? They dared not stop long enough to tend to him and he doubted they had any spare shirts to use as bandages. After a few more minutes, he struggled up.

“Let us go,” he said. “Already the day is waning. Do we run through the night?”

“We cannot stop to light a fire,” Gilgaran answered. “I fear those creatures will be tracking us soon enough now that the storm has passed. The more distance we can put between them and us, the better.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could go faster, but….”

“Save your breath for traveling, my friend,” Gilgaran said not unkindly. “Arthalion, spell Celepharn while he and I help Maglor. Saelmir, you have point.”

They switched positions with Saelmir loping off and Arthalion remaining where he was to give the other three time to make some distance before following. Maglor stifled a groan as he attempted to stand with Celepharn and Gilgaran’s help, his back throbbing with pain.

“I know you’re in pain, Maglor,” Gilgaran said quietly, his expression sympathetic, “but to stay here is certain death. You know this.”

“I do,” Maglor replied as they headed off, the other two allowing him to set the pace, which was excruciatingly slow. “I am just sorry that I’ve put you all in danger of your lives.”

“I’m sure you did not get injured on purpose, just to make our lives even more miserable than they already were,” Gilgaran countered, flashing him a grin.

Maglor couldn’t help giving him a supercilious look and sniffed disdainfully. “Little you know.”

Gilgaran and Celepharn chuckled and then they fell silent as they concentrated on their trail, attempting to choose a route that was as smooth as possible so as not to tax Maglor’s strength. But it was pure torture for Maglor and after a short while he let himself slip into a waking dream, losing himself in a memory of an earlier, more innocent time where all was green and the light was a blend of silver and gold, and he was oh so very young.

They did not stop when the sun sank behind the mountains but continued on, except to take short breaks every few leagues to attend to personal needs if necessary and to give Maglor time to rest. Maglor knew little of that, lost as he was in a nightmare of pain. He stopped when they stopped, drank water if someone pushed a skin into his hands, even chewed on some jerky that Saelmir carried for their sustenance, but he no longer spoke and his eyes saw nothing of the present. He lost himself in the deep past, beyond the pain of his wounds, now crusted over as the temperatures fell and the blood froze, offering its own kind of pain. He no longer heard what was said around him, if anything was said at all.

Somewhere in the early hours before the dawn, they stumbled into a fold of the hills where they convinced Maglor to lie down while three of them also rested as completely as possible while one stood guard over them all. Maglor actually slept, rousing to groggy consciousness as the sky lightened to true dawn. By then, everyone else had had at least an hour’s rest. Arthalion handed Maglor some water and then they were off. Maglor actually felt better for the short sleep and was more present during the next stage of their flight, able to move at a slightly faster pace than he had done previously.

“How far are we from the towers?” he asked Saelmir, who was holding him up with Celepharn’s help.

“At this pace, probably two days more,” Saelmir answered. “We’re making for the Cleft. That will put us about fifteen miles as the craban flies to the towers, but we probably have another twenty or so miles to go before we get there.”

Maglor nodded. The Cleft, as the Elves called it, was a crevice that began a few miles southwest of the towers and extended down to the plain, widening as it went along. It had been formed by a long-ago quake and ran nearly straight, as if some giant had cleaved the land with a sword. There was evidence of a waterfall and a stream running through it sometime in the distant past, but now it appeared to be a dry gulch, though some speculated that if the climate ever warmed again, the water would flow. At any rate, it was the most direct route back to the settlement, though they would not be able to travel its full length, for the walls steepened further in, but they could climb the northern face and move across the ridge that had formed with relative ease.

So they ran as quickly as Maglor’s wounds allowed and he hoped that their luck would hold, for there had been no sign of the creatures following them and for that they were all grateful, but their luck turned when the sky, which had been blue, darkened to gray and clouds piled up.

“We’ll get snow soon,” Gilgaran muttered in disgust when they stopped around noon for a quick break. They thought that they were nearly halfway to the Cleft at this point but weren’t really sure.

“It will hide us from those creatures if they are following us,” Arthalion pointed out as he chewed on some jerky and swallowed some water.

“I am just surprised they haven’t caught up with us by now,” Saelmir said. “Surely they cannot believe we are still hiding in that cave.”

“Who can say?” Gilgaran rejoined with a shrug. “Perhaps they simply went back to their lair.”

Even as he spoke, they heard a snarling roar echoing through the hills to their right. It was difficult to tell just where or how far the source of that roar was, but Maglor thought it was not as close as it sounded.

“Or not,” Gilgaran added with a grimace, even as he began issuing orders. “If we can reach the Cleft we will have better protection and can stand our ground. I do not wish to lead these creatures to the settlement.”

“Let’s get going then,” Maglor said, knowing that, ultimately, he would not be fighting, wounded as he was, and that he was putting the others at risk. He was almost tempted to tell them to leave him there and make a run for it, but knew that it was a futile gesture. They would not leave him behind and in truth he had no desire to end up in the belly of any beast if he could possibly help it.

Even as they resumed their run, the sky continued to darken with clouds and before long the snow began to fall in earnest, though it was not the blinding blizzard of before. Still, its rapid fall made it difficult for them to see too far ahead and they were forced to move slower than they wished. There was no further evidence of the creatures following them; all was silent, save for their own breathing.

The storm brought the daylight to an end early and they were traveling through the dark long before the sun set. Maglor found himself struggling to keep up with the others, his store of energy nearly depleted. Even with two of his companions holding him up, he stumbled more than once and even fell flat on his face at one point, forcing the other two onto their knees when his momentum carried them down with him. He lay there panting, feeling dizzy and hot and cold at the same time, his back throbbing.

“Get up,” Arthalion commanded, pulling at his left arm. “You have to get up, Maglor. Gilgaran, wait up. Maglor’s fallen. Celepharn, Saelmir, help me get him back up.”

Somehow they managed, but Maglor was swaying and his eyes would not focus on anything, not that there was much to see except the snow, so he closed them, hoping the dizziness would pass quickly.

“Where are we?” he heard Celepharn ask. “How close to the Cleft do you think we are?”

“Not close enough,” Gilgaran replied. “How is he? Can he move?”

“He’s nearly done in,” Arthalion answered. “I don’t think he’s in any condition to move.”

“Yet, we cannot stay here,” Gilgaran said. “It’s too open and I think those creatures are closer than we know. They run silently and in this storm and in the darkness, we cannot hope to see them until they are right on top of us.”

As if in answer, they all heard again the snarling roar and it sounded closer than the last time. Maglor opened his eyes, forcing them to focus on Gilgaran’s face as the ellon stood directly before him.

“We go on,” he said, speaking with some effort. “If we stop now we will surely die.”

Gilgaran stared at him for a few seconds and then nodded. “We stay together. Arthalion, can you carry Maglor for a time? We’ll switch off every once in a while so no one is unduly fatigued.”

“No, I can run,” Maglor protested.

Gilgaran shook his head. “We’ll make better time carrying you. Arthalion?”

Even as he continued to protest, Maglor found himself being lifted into Arthalion’s arms. “Stop squirming, Maglor, and just enjoy the ride,” the ellon said and then he was running and the other three stayed with him. Maglor subsided, feeling several kinds of idiot and silently castigating himself, the Valar, and everything else in between for putting him in this ridiculous position. He had never felt so embarrassed in his life, but he had to admit, however reluctantly, that they were making better time. Even weighed down with him in his arms, Arthalion was still moving at a pace that most Mortals would find difficult if not impossible to maintain after a few minutes. Arthalion was barely breathing hard.

The steady pace lulled him and he found himself slipping back into a waking dream, hoping to conserve his strength enough that he would be able to move on his own by morning. At some point, he felt Arthalion slowing and then stopping altogether. He heard soft voices and he felt himself being moved into someone else’s arms but he was too far spent to care, though in the process of moving him, his back flamed in agony and he hissed, biting his lips to keep from screaming.

“Sorry,” he heard Saelmir whisper and then they were running again.

By now, the snow had ceased to fall. Either that or they had run out of the storm. At any rate, when he opened his eyes, he could see stars again and somewhere to the east a crescent moon was rising though it would be hours yet before he would show himself above the hills. Twice more they stopped to change carriers, but even as Celepharn was helping Gilgaran to take up the burden, they heard the snarling roar of the creatures and this time it was very close.

“There,” Arthalion pointed, even as he was reaching for his bow. “Along the crest of that hill.”

“I see them,” Gilgaran said.

“Put me down,” Maglor insisted.

“We can still run,” Gilgaran said. “We are not far from the Cleft.”

“We’ll never make it and it is better that we take our stand here and now,” Maglor retorted as he struggled out of Gilgaran’s hold, swaying on his feet when he was finally upright again. “How many of them escaped your arrows when you came to our rescue?”

“We counted six that managed to slink off before we could kill them,” Saelmir answered. “They did not appear to be as large as those whom we did kill.”

“Probably females or younger males,” Maglor said. “They may be easier to kill, but they are still deadly foes.”

“Here they come,” Arthalion said calmly even as he lifted his bow and took careful aim. Saelmir and Celepharn were doing the same, while Gilgaran stood next to Maglor with his sword drawn. Maglor attempted to pull his own sword from its sheath, not wanting to be defenseless, but the very act of doing so brought excruciating pain and he nearly blacked out. Gilgaran grabbed him to keep him from falling on his face.

The other three, meanwhile, had not yet loosed their arrows, waiting for the creatures to come closer. Maglor silently counted the creatures and found himself blinking, thinking he was seeing double, for there were not six but ten.

“They waited for reinforcements,” he muttered. “That’s why they didn’t come at us sooner.”

Arrows suddenly arced across the night and two of the creatures stumbled to a halt, screaming in agony.

“Damn! I can’t believe I missed,” Saelmir muttered even as he was shooting another arrow and then a third. The creatures were running so quickly, though, that not all the arrows found their targets. Three more cats went down and the five that were left never slowed and now arrows were useless and bows were thrown aside, while swords were drawn.

“Don’t waste time protecting me,” Maglor told them, forcing nerveless fingers to pull his sword out in spite of the fiery pain coursing down his back. “That’ll just get us all killed. Concentrate on yourselves and let me worry about me.”

“Shut up, Maglor,” Arthalion said, then he screamed a battle cry as he lunged toward the nearest cat. “Arthad!”

The other three echoed him and each went on the offensive, choosing one of the cats to attack. Maglor, however, just stood there, forcing his sword up in an en guard position, trying not to black out, waiting for the fifth cat to come to him. In the dark, all he could see was a shadow running toward him then leaping from a good ten or so feet away, intending, no doubt, to crush him under its weight. In the few seconds he had left, Maglor started to back up, hoping to be out of range, but his foot twisted on a rock and he lost his balance, falling backward even as the cat came down on him. He attempted to bring his sword up in a futile effort to protect himself, but suddenly, the cat twisted in midair, yelping as in pain, and fell beside him, an arrow stuck in its belly. It was still alive and thrashing. Maglor ignored his own pain and forced himself to roll away to avoid being hit by the creature’s paws.

“Gurth an Glamoth!” Maglor heard and then suddenly he was surrounded by several Elves who ran to help his friends. Two of them stayed by him, helping him up.

“Maglor! Are you injured?”

“Denethor, what…?”

“Easy now. Damrod, give me a hand.”

Maglor found himself being led away from the field of slaughter, swaying in his friends’ hold, trying to keep from screaming. Behind him he heard yelling and snarling and not all the screams of pain came from the cats. He closed his ears to it all. They only went a few feet though before his knees gave out and with a whimper he collapsed, letting the darkness take him….

****

When next he opened his eyes, silence greeted him and there was a fire burning merrily, exuding light and blessed warmth. He was lying face down on furs and his back no longer pained him. He lifted his head to see where he was.

“So you decided to join us.”

He squinted, trying to see who had spoken. A dark figure approached, kneeling beside him, blocking his view of the fire.

“Here, see if you can sit up. I have some venison stew for you.”

“Denethor! How did you….?”

“Questions will have to wait, my friend. Can you sit?”

Maglor nodded and with a little help and a lot of muttered cursing, he managed to sit upright. Denethor handed him a bowl of stew and as there were no eating utensils, he sipped the broth, letting it warm him from the inside. Denethor shifted his position so he was sitting beside Maglor.

“What happened and where are the others? I remember screaming. Were any injured? Arthalion! Saelmir!”

“Easy now,” Denethor said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Everyone is well. Arthalion suffered a broken arm but that is the worst of the injuries. He’s sleeping at the moment. See?” He pointed to a dark shape on the other side of the fire huddled under furs. “Everyone else is busy getting rid of those creatures,” Denethor continued. “They’re dragging the carcasses away as far from here as possible. I imagine they’ll be back soon.”

“How did you come to be here, though?”

“When you were late returning, I decided to send a search party out, but we had to wait for the storms to pass first. Damrod wanted me to remain behind, but this time I decided to join in the search. I’ve stayed behind too many times while everyone else has gone out at least once, even the ellith. I think I’m the only one who hasn’t seen Mithlond yet.”

“Who’s left at the settlement then?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Denethor replied with a chuckle. “I left a few of the younger ellyn to watch over the ellith. We won’t be away that long, after all. Now, how are you feeling? I saw what those creatures did to you. It’s a wonder you’re even alive.”

“The pain seems to be mostly gone, but I doubt I will be moving too quickly for a while,” Maglor answered, picking out some chunks of meat from the bowl and shoving them into his mouth.

“Well, we’ll stay here at least until dawn, so get as much rest as you can. We’ll take it slow. I’ll send most of the ellyn ahead to let the others know that we’re on our way.”

Maglor nodded, handing the now empty bowl to Denethor. “I just need to get up for a moment and then I will try to sleep a bit more.” He glanced upward and tried to gauge the time, thinking that dawn was probably another two or three hours away. Denethor put the bowl aside and stood, holding out his hands to help Maglor up. Maglor stifled a groan.

“Take it slow, my friend,” Denethor said as he led him away from the fire toward the hills, stopping beside a couple of elf-high boulders. He stepped away to give Maglor some modicum of privacy and then helped him back to the fire. Just in that short distance Maglor found his strength depleted and he sank gratefully onto the furs and was asleep in minutes, unaware of Denethor covering him with his own cloak.

****

He woke to broad daylight and realized it was well after dawn, the sun already above the hills. Looking about, he saw Arthalion, his left arm neatly splinted, sitting across from the fire, staring into the flames. There were others milling about and he saw Denethor conversing with Gilgaran and Saelmir. He did not see Celepharn but Haldir was there, standing a little apart, staring out to the south and Maglor realized the young ellon was acting as a guard. Arthalion looked up as Maglor attempted to sit up and smiled.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“How’s your arm?” Maglor asked by way of greeting.

“It is fine,” Arthalion replied with a scowl. “At least it was a clean break, but I’ll be useless for anything for a couple of weeks.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage and we’ll all survive your grousing,” Maglor said with a smile. “Where’s Celepharn?”

“Gone back to the settlement with the others.”

Maglor looked up to see Denethor approaching with Gilgaran. “We’re the only ones left and as soon as you think you can manage, we’ll leave. I’d like to be back home before dark.”

“Home?” Maglor couldn’t help asking.

Denethor shrugged. “For now.”

Maglor nodded, understanding what the ellon meant. “Give me a little time to pull myself together and we’ll go.”

“Gilgaran, douse the fire while I give Maglor a hand. Arthalion, can you carry some of our supplies? Good. Haldir, take point. Come along, Maglor.”

Before the hour was half over, they were on their way back home.

****

Gurth an Glamoth!: ‘Death to the Din-horde!’ Tuor’s curse and battle-cry [see Unfinished Tales, ‘Of Tuor and His Coming to Gondolin’].